


Scenes from a Different Kind of Future

by ipreferaviators



Category: Back to the Future (Movies), Dead Poets Society (1989)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 20:32:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/299765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ipreferaviators/pseuds/ipreferaviators
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU modern-day crossover between Dead Poets Society and Back to the Future. Neal doesn't succeed in killing himself, and Marty decides he'll give college the old college try.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scenes from a Different Kind of Future

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pie_is_good](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pie_is_good/gifts).



> This is my Yuletide fic for pie_is_good. The matching fandom was Dead Poets Society, but I'm well-familiar with Back to the Future. The original two prompts that I used are listed below. Neither one is completely filled by the fic, but the idea of a crossover attached itself to my brain and I couldn't get rid of it.
> 
> Prompts:
> 
> "It's a little weird that Marty hangs out with an old guy, right? I mean, at least somewhat. We know his homelife is a little strange, but we know he's relatively well-adjusted in spite of that - he has a girlfriend, and he has friends he's in a band with...but how did that start? I've always wondered that."
> 
> "I really just want to see a story where Neil doesn't die and has to work through his problems, preferably with Keating as a mentor. I want to see the pain, maybe even suicide attempts. Estrangements from his father, perhaps him going to medical school out of duty yet nearly failing out because he sneaks off to audition and perform in plays in the non-existent free time a med student has."

When Neal gets to his room, he's surprised to see one side of the room alreaddy filled with someoen's stuff. It's still a week before classes start, and his dad had to pull some strings to get the dorm to let him move in so early. The stuff is not exactly what Neal expected. He brought a desk lamp, several notebooks, his laptop, all the clothes he could fit in the luggage he was allowed to bring, and a few things from his time at Welton. The empty whiskey bottle Charlie gave him as a going-away present, the desk set Todd gave him as an ironic graduation gift, a book of new poetry from Keating. Nothing too personal, unless you know what you're looking at. He assumed most Stanford students would bring the same kind of thing. But his roommate obviously had a different idea. There are posters on the wall--a mix of bands, some new and some old and some that Neal doesn't even recognize. There are some movies mixed in, too, but Neal's never heard of half of them. The laptop sitting on the desk is covered in stickers and writing, and the bedspread is so orange it's almost painful to look at. Neal thinks about his cream-colored sheets and navy blankets and feels a slight pang of jealousy.

He's still staring at the colorful display of personality when there's a knock at the door.

"Come in," he calls. Todd pokes his head in.

"Hey, did you get--oh. Huh."

Todd stops short, and Neal looks over to see him looking, wide-eyed, at his roommate's side of the room.

"Yeah," Neal says. "It's like sharing a room with Nawanda."

Todd laughs, a short, abrupt breath, and gestures at the posters.

"Have you met him yet?"

"No," Neal says. "I just got in a few minutes ago."

"Me too," Todd says. They'd both decided to get there early--or well, their fathers had decided. Welton had started two weeks earlier, and their parents were used to having them out of the house by then, so even just a week extra at home was plenty for everyone.

"Seen anyone else?" Neal asks. He's eager to meet other students. Welton was almost frustratingly small; senior year had been hell for him, and everyone else had known it. It's hard to avoid people when you live in a community of a couple hundred people, all of whom know you by name.

"A few, but not many," Todd says, finally giving up reading all the posters on the wall and sitting back on Neal's unmade bed. "One guy on my hall, one on yours, and one out in front of the building."

Neal feels the familiar twinge when Todd says "my" and "yours." They almost roomed together, after it was clear they were both going to Stanford. Neal knows that's what Todd wanted. Todd and Charlie had kind of taken care of Neal that last semester, making sure he ate, did his homework, got up in the morning, showered. He knows it was hard on Charlie to stay in New England and not follow them out to California, but he also knows that Charlie's dad doesn't think Stanford is a real college, so there wasn't much Charlie could do. There had been a lot of furtive conversations between Todd and Charlie those last few weeks of the semester, and Todd actually asked Neal if he'd like to room together. But Neal had already thought about that and decided that he needed a new start, needed some fresh blood in his life. It's not that he doesn't appreciate everything Todd did for him. But sometimes it feels like Todd knows too much, that Neal can't escape the anger and frustration and, okay, yeah, depression, that had haunted him his final semester at Welton. Neal wants to escape it. Neal _needs_ to escape it. He's not sure if Todd understands, but Todd had nodded when Neal told him that he'd already sent his roommate request papers in, circling "random," and that had been the end of it. But Neal still feels a little guilty. Todd came all the way to California, because Neal needed to get away, and Neal leaves him to room with some potentially crazy student who doesn't know that Todd gets stressed before exams, needs absolute quiet to study anything with science or math, but likes music when he's studying history and literature, or that when Todd oversleeps he somehow forgets to eat for the whole rest of the day.

"Want to go get something to eat?" he asks, not wanting to abandon Todd to an empty dorm while he puts his stuff away.

"Don't you need to unpack?" Todd asks. Neal shrugs, and Todd looks at him with concern in his eyes.

"I'll do it later," Neal says, trying not to roll his eyes. Todd thinks everything Neal does is a sign of some deeply hidden sadness. Which, okay, maybe there was a time when it was--Neal can be honest with himself about that. But he spent the summer after graduation at his parents' lake house, mostly alone, living a solitary, wonderful Thoreau-esque life. He had to fight tooth and nail to be allowed to do it (moreso with Charlie and Todd than with his parents, who were less afraid of him trying to kill himself than him slacking off or throwing parties or joining a secret acting troupe). It was amazing, though, and it put a lot of things into perspective. Todd doesn't get it, though.

**

The first few weeks of classes are rough. It's not even the coursework itself--Neal's taking Biochemistry, Anatomy and Physiology, Latin, Physics for Pre-Med Students, and Introduction to Acting. He took enough science and Latin at Welton that he doesn't feel lost, even though he's one of the only freshmen in his classes. Acting is glorious, though. He managed to convince his dad that he had to take it for his required fine arts credit, which is mostly true. He does have to take a fine arts class, and acting will count towards the requirement. He just didn't tell his dad that he could have taken 18th Century Sculpture or A Survey of French Opera instead. And despite the fact that all acting students have to put in four hours a week outside of class hammering and painting and sawing and all sorts of other manual labor that Neal's pretty sure he's terrible at, it's amazing.

Neal's roommate is pretty amazing, too. The orange bedspread wasn't a fluke--the first time Neal met Marty, it was two in the morning and Marty stumbled in, half drunk and wearing what looked like a life vest. He wasn't wet, though, so Neal wasn't sure about that. Marty had mumbled an enthusiastic "hey!" and then fallen face first on his bed and gone to sleep. But the next morning, Marty insisted on taking him out to a "real dive, man, it's so gross, but the pancakes are to die for," and they bonded over bacon, runny eggs, and the best pancakes Neal had ever tasted.

So it's not the classes and it's not his roommate that make Neal's first few weeks at Stanford hard. Neal's lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling in the dark, and trying to figure out why he feels like he's been run over by a bus. He could barely get out of bed the past few mornings, and he's had nightmares about that night for the past week. He'd hoped the nightmares were over, but apparently not.

"Dude," Marty's voice breaks the silence as light from the hallway spills into the room. Neal squints against the sudden brightness.

"Hey," he says, laying his head back down on the pillow.

"You asleep?" Marty asks. Marty doesn't sleep, as far as Neal can tell. He's gone every weekend, and usually a day or two in between, and when he comes back he sleeps for about two hours and then pops back up again, loud and excited and exclaiming about the "totally, completely wrong stuff" he's learning in his engineering classes. He's some kind of engineering genius, on a full ride, and he spent the summer before working as an assistant in one of the labs. Neal's a little jealous about how easily everything comes to Marty, but then Marty will grin and tell some half-story about when he was twelve and accidentally set a toaster on fire despite the fact that it wasn't plugged in, and Neal can't be jealous anymore. Genius couldn't have happened to a nicer guy.

"Just resting," he says. He's exhausted, but he still has a lot of homework to do before he actually goes to sleep for the night.

"You look terrible," Marty comments, flipping on the light switch and wandering over to his side of the room. "Do you need coffee?"

"Not yours," Neal says, smiling despite himself. Marty once woke him up early for class with a pot of absolutely terrible coffee, which Neal choked down to be polite. He'd had a stomachache the rest of the day.

"See if I offer to do anything nice for you ever again," Marty says. Neal looks over and Marty's got a hand pressed against his chest and is gaping in mock horror.

"I'm sorry I offended you," Neal says, trying to look sincere. He widens his eyes a little, adding a hint of a pout and trying not to laugh.

Marty doesn't laugh, though. He lowers his hand and looks at Neal thoughtfully before a wry grin spreads across his face.

"Come on, princess," Marty says, reaching a hand out for Neal. "This calls for apology pancakes."

Neal takes his hand.

**

Neal gets a small role in a show that opens in early December. He doesn't even mention it to his parents when he goes home for Thanksgiving, because he knows they won't come. His dad might not even let him perform if he knew, even though Neal's been at the top of the curve on every assignment and test in all his pre-med classes this semester. It's a little sad, hearing all the othe freshmen who got roles talk about seeing their families on opening night. But Charlie promises to fly in from Yale that weekend, and he and Todd are all the family Neal needs.

Neal hasn't seen much of Todd in the past month, though. Todd doesn't seem to like Marty, though Neal can't figure out why. Marty is everything Neal wishes he could be. Marty talks about his mother and father like they're the ones who got it wrong, like they don't know anything about the world or what Marty should do with his life or what it means to be successful. Marty's dad is some sort of writer, Neal knows, and Marty once said the only reason his dad supports his engineering degree is that he may one day learn to make humanoid robots to fight the impending alien invasion. Neal just looked at him, waiting for the punch line, but Marty just grinned that half smile and started talking about his older sister's kids and how he wants to take them to some theme park in Texas that's got a "wild west" theme. Neal's stopped trying to figure out how Marty gets from one topic of conversation to the next. It's kind of refreshing, knowing that there's no angle to Marty, nothing he's trying to accomplish or get from you when he talks to you. He's just being Marty, and Neal respects that. More than respects that--he envies that, and he kind of loves that.

Another reason Neal hasn't seen much of Todd is that Todd joined a fraternity. Neal's not sure how that happened, because it's _Todd_. And yeah, Todd is awesome, but he's not exactly fraternity material. They had their first fight in a long time when Todd told him which fraternity he was joining. Phi Delta Omega is one of the most well-known frats on campus, but it's not all good publicity. Neal's castmates still talk in hushed tones about the almost fatal beating some Phi Delta guys gave to one of the acting students two years earlier. He'd gone to a party at the frat house, invited by some pledge, and the Phi Delta's didn't appreciate an openly gay man in their house. The student was hospitalized for over two months and never returned to Stamford. When Neal asked if Todd knew about it, Todd said he didn't care. "They're good guys, Neal," he said, "and they want me around." Neal accused Todd of wanting to be just like them, and Todd said he had never beaten anybody up and wasn't going to start now. Then he asked why Neal cared so much about something that happened long before they started, and Neal couldn't answer him. He wasn't sure himself, at the time. It took a long week of soul-searching (and a weekend spent almost entirely in one bar or another, getting drunk with Marty and his fake IDs) before he figured it out. In the scheme of things, Neal finally decided, liking guys was probably not the biggest reason his father had to hate him, and that was as far as he got before passing out and falling off a bar stool.

**

When Charlie gets into town, Neal meets him at the diner with the amazing pancakes. He's running a little late, since Marty decided to spend the morning telling Neal all about the time he went to this high school and tried to get these two people together, only the girl had a crush on him, and it was disgusting, and then there was something about a guitar and a car and lightening. Marty had been pretty drunk (Neal's not sure why he was drunk at eight in the morning, but it's not like that was the first time), though, so the story made even less sense than usual.

"Sorry, sorry," he says, sliding into the booth across from Charlie.

"Neal, my man," Charlie says, holding his palm up. Neal slaps it, sharing a grin with Charlie, and signals the waitress that they're ready.

"Coffee," Neal tells her when she gets to the table. "Lots of coffee."

"I'll just have water," Charlie says, giving Neal a surprised look. She nods and wanders toward the kitchen to get their drinks.

"Coffee, huh? And lots of it?" Charlie raises an eyebrow.

"Marty woke me up at eight to tell me an hour's worth of drunken story," Neal says, smiling. "I was at final dress rehearsals until eleven last night, and then stayed up finishing homework until three."

"What an asshole," Charlie says, and Neal frowns.

"No," he says. "He didn't know I stayed up that late."

"Still," Charlie says, moving his menu out of the way when the waitress returns with their drinks. "What kind of roommate wakes you up at eight in the morning when you don't have class? I'll tell you. An asshole."

"Marty's not an asshole," Neal argues. He's more angry about it than he ought to be, but he can't help it. Marty's the least asshole-y guy he's ever met.

"Okay, fine," Charlie says. "Whatever."

"He's not an asshole," Neal repeats.

"I said fine," Charlie cuts back, narrowing his eyes at Neal. "Not an asshole. Jesus, I haven't seen you in six months and this is the first conversation we have?"

"Sorry," Neal says automatically. "How've you been?"

Charlie grins, a wicked Nawanda-style smile, and starts into an hour-long story of his own, about a girl in a coffee shop in New Haven, purple eyeliner, glitter, whiskey, and an eventual lack of pants. Somewhere in the middle of the part about glitter, they order pancakes, which come right as Charlie is finishing up the tale and wiping tears away from his eyes. Neal's laughing, but mostly it's because Charlie is still so _Charlie_. It's nice to know some things never change.

**

Some things do change, though, so Neal is not amused when Todd and Charlie refuse to leave his side the entire night after the show opens. It's the first show he's done since Midsummer, sure, but things are different now. He'd hoped Todd would have seen enough of a change in Neal to know that, but with Charlie there, things go back to the way they were that last semester. Todd is the silent watchman, his intense gaze following every move Neal makes. Charlie is the distraction, telling crazy stories and generally making an idiot of himself in the campus bar. Neal's the only one with a fake ID, so he orders beer and the other guys sneak sips while drinking their own sodas. They've been there an hour, doing the same awkward dance, when Neal's phone buzzes.

whr u @?

It's Marty. Neal grins at the phone. Marty's normally gone by Friday night, off to spend his weekend wherever he spends every weekend. He's glad tonight is different, though. He wants Charlie to meet Marty.

bar. come drink. it's boring being the only adult.

Neal doesn't specify which bar, because this is the only one he and Marty come to with any regularity. The bartenders all know Marty, and by extension Neal, so they get great service and good deals on drinks. Neal's phone buzzes again, and he pulls it back out of his pocket.

raaaaaad brt

Todd and Charlie are giving him strange looks when Neal puts the phone down, so he explains.

"Marty's coming by," he says. Charlie, surprisingly, glances over at Todd, who sets his drink down a little too hard.

"Awesome," Todd says, but it's clearly sarcastic.

"What's the problem?" Neal asks, a little hurt.

"Charlie's only in town for two days, Neal," Todd says. "It's supposed to be us, you know, Dead Poets forever, the guys who are always, always there for you. One weekend to catch up, to feel like old times again. And you invite Marty."

Neal gapes at him. It's the most Todd has said all night, and it's the angriest Todd has been since their fight about the fraternity. He can't think of anything to say, any response to that, and so he just sits there staring until Charlie clears his throat.

"It's fine," he says, elbowing Todd. "I want to meet him."

He smiles his Nawanda smile again, and Neal's pretty sure it's going to be an interesting night.

**

It's interesting, certainly. Todd gives it about ten minutes after Marty shows up, grins at the bartender, and gets a round of beers for all four of them slid onto their table with no questions asked, before he's rolling his eyes and storming out. Neal's not sure what his problem is, but he's kind of sick of Todd's attitude.

"He came here for you, you know," Charlie says when Marty heads back to the bar to make small talk to the wait staff and get another round.

"Who, Marty?" Neal asks, distracted by the way Marty's grinning at one of the waitresses. He's not sure where the pang of annoyance in his chest is coming from, but he doesn't like it.

"No, Neal," Charlie says, and he sounds almost angry. "Todd. Todd came here for you."

"He likes this bar," Neal says, confused. "He comes here sometimes with his frat brothers."

"To _California_ ," Charlie nearly yells, slamming a hand down on the table. "He came to Stamford for _you_. And you are either monumentally oblivious, or you just don't care."

"I know, okay?" Neal says, getting a little angry himself. He _knows_. "I know he's here to what, watch over me, or whatever it is you two decided I needed last spring. And I get it, I appreciate it, but I'm different now, Charlie. I'm better."

"You're really dumb," Charlie says, shaking his head. He looks almost surprised. "You think he just came to make sure you didn't try to kill yourself again?"

Neal's breath catches in his throat and he looks around the room. They don't talk about it, don't talk about the way Neal took half a bottle of pills and passed out in his father's study with his father's gun in his hand. His mother had found him the next morning, called an ambulance, and he'd spent a week in the hospital. That was the only reason Neal had been allowed to stay at Welton--he had convinced his mother that if they sent him to military school, he'd find another gun and actually use it. The cloud of concern, fear, and ostracism followed him around the rest of the year, and only Todd, Charlie, and Keating bothered to push through it and make sure he was okay. But the last thing Neal wants is for anyone at Stamford to know. He left that part of himself behind, lost in the snow and ice and opressive cold of Welton and his father's house. California is thawing him out, letting him shake off the chill of depression and feel _real_ again, feel alive. He doesn't want to--no, he _can't_ \--let his history follow him here.

"He came because he's in love with you, Neal," Charlie continues, and the catch in Neal's throat turns into a full-blown cough. He grips the side of the table as the breath grates against his throat in long wheezes, but Charlie doesn't stop there.

"He's been in fucking love with you since last fall, and you're too wrapped up in yourself to see it. Do you even know what it did to him? Back at Welton? How close he came to falling apart? No. You didn't care. It was all about Neal, and I had to stand there and pick up the pieces of one of the most amazing guys I've ever met, because you couldn't be bothered to pay attention to anyone besides yourself."

With that, Charlie rolls his eyes and stands up. He throws a few bills on the table, grabbing his jacket, and turns to leave. He stops, though, turns around thoughtfully, a mean glint in his eyes, and Neal remembers again how brutal Charlie can be.

"I hope your precious little Marty won't get angry when he finds out you're in love with him," he says, smiling a terrible smile. It hardens into a glare, and his mouth twists downward. "I'm going to go find Todd and clean up your mess. Again."

And then he's gone.

Neal stares at the empty spot on the floor where Charlie had stood, his stomach churning. It's too much to take in, too much to think about, and he doesn't even know where to begin. But then he glances up and sees Marty at the bar, turned and staring, mouth hanging open. Neal flushes, remembering Charlie's last comment, and grabs his sweater. He leaves as fast as he can, praying that Marty won't follow him. He doesn't.

**

Neal doesn't go back to the room until about two that morning. He mostly wanders the streets, trying to figure out a way to think about everything Charlie said without opening the half-healed wound still lingering inside him. He never knew. Never knew how Todd felt, never knew how rough it had been on everyone back at school. Charlie was right. Neal was a selfish jerk, and Todd was far away from everyone he knew and loved, and the only thanks he got was Neal yelling at him about joining a fraternity. Neal can't imagine how lonely Todd must have felt, to join a frat known for its blatant homophobia. He feels another wave of guilt wash over him as he climbs the steps to his room, and when he opens the door, he just wants to curl up in his bed and never climb back out.

"Hey," Marty's voice is clear and loud in the dark room, and Neal nearly crashes into the wall in surprise.

"I thought you'd be gone," he says. I hoped you'd be gone, he thinks.

"Doc's...indisposed, this weekend," Marty says, turning on his desk lamp. It's enough light for Neal to strip off his shoes and jacket, and he climbs into bed still wearing his pants and button-up.

"Is that where you go? The doctor?" Neal asks. As long as they're making small talk about Marty, they're not talking about anything that happened--and anything Marty might have heard--in the bar that night.

Marty laughs a little, free and happy, and Neal feels part of the clench in his stomach relax.

"He's not actually a doctor," Marty says. He rolls on his side to face Neal. "He's an inventor. Don't really know why everyone calls him Doc, but I've only heard a few people use his real name."

"An inventor? You spend your weekends with an inventor?" Neal asks. He's curious, now. Marty tells a lot of stories, yes, but nothing that inspires the kind of warmth and affection that Marty's voice holds now.

"He's more a friend, really," Marty says, smiling. "First I ever had."

"Huh," Neal says. He just looks at Marty, taking in the easy smile and the way the blankets make his small frame seem larger, more solid.

"I was eight," Marty continues. "And man, was I a loser. My brother and sister hated me, my parents didn't get along, all the kids in school thought I was a weirdo creep. So I used to sneak out. I'd pack a bag every single night and wander around town, looking for a place to sleep, a way to get out of town, anything. I don't know what I expected to find," he laughs, "but I never did."

Marty scoots toward the edge of his bed, getting as close to the center of the room as he can without falling off, before continuing in a more serious tone.

"I found a workshop one night. It was full of the most amazing things, machines and pieces of cars and junk all over the place. I thought no one would notice an extra kid hanging around inside, there was so much stuff, so I unrolled my sleeping back under half a boat and fell asleep."

"Did you get caught?" Neal asks. He barely remembers being eight. The memories are a cloud of fear, pressure, school, and snow, and they blend in with the rest of his childhood.

"Sort of," Marty says, rolling onto his back and looking at the ceiling. Neal can hear the fondness in Marty's voice, and that same pang of annoyance pulls at his chest. He shoves it deep down and listens to the rest of the story.

"I woke up the next morning to birds chirping, a dog barking, and a man cursing like I'd never heard before. I shot up, banged my head good on the boat, and the man stopped talking. I sat there, scared out of my mind, and then a head popped under the side of the boat, covered in crazy white hair. Looked like the ghost of Einstein, dude, it was terrifying."

Marty's laughing, so Neal doesn't feel bad about his big grin. He can picture a tiny child Marty hiding under a boat, shaking with fear when the ghost of Einstein shows up in front of him. It's such a perfect image that Neal hears himself begin to laugh out loud, a breathtaking release from the tension he's been carrying around for the whole night.

"The first thing he said, very first thing he said, was 'Do you know how to use a screwdriver?' Not, where are your parents, or what are you doing here. Just. Do you know how to use a screwdriver."

"Well, did you?" Neal manages to say between heaves of laughter. It's not even that funny, but he can't control the laughter now that it's started. He doesn't think Marty's offended, though, because he just pauses and then laughs even louder than before.

"Hell no, dude, I was eight," he says. He rolls back to face Neal, and Neal turns onto his side so he can face Marty as well. "But he taught me. He spent the next twelve years teaching me. Everything I know about engineering, about making things, about how the world works, I learned from Doc."

"That's amazing," Neal says. He's managed to calm his breathing, but he can still feel the silly grin on his face. "I wish I had someone like that. There's Keating, but I only knew him for a year, so it's not the same."  
"Who's Keating?" Marty asks, grinning back.

"My senior English teacher," Neal says, snickering when Marty makes a face. The only books in the room that don't belong to Neal are textbooks, so Neal's not surprised Marty isn't a fan of English class. "He taught me that I'm my own person, that I don't have to be who everybody else expects me to be. But also that it's okay to go with the flow, if fighting against it means losing everything you've fought for."

"That's pretty deep," Marty says. His face goes thoughtful. "Is that what all that was about tonight? At the bar? Being your own person?"

Neal looks away. He'd been hoping they could pretend none of that happened.

"Um," he says. "Sort of. More about me being an asshole, though."

"I don't think you're an asshole," Marty offers. Neal looks over at him, surprised. He wonders how much Marty really heard. "I think you did what you had to, and everybody else did what they had to, and anyone who's pointing fingers at this point is just doing it to be a dick."

Neal blinks at him.

"But I," he starts. "But Todd."

"Todd did what Todd wanted to do," Marty says stubbornly. "He didn't have to move out here, and it's not your fault that he did. And if he really wanted you, he should have said something. Any time, he could have just said, 'Hey Neal, you're really amazing. You're a good-looking guy, and I like hanging out with you, and I think I'd like doing more with you. Are you interested?' And then you'd get to make a choice. That's the only way it's fair."

Neal thinks about it. The thing is, Marty's right, in a way. Neal never intentionally hurt Todd. But he never knew. If Todd had said something--well, maybe something would have happened, and maybe not, but there's no way to know. They could have had a shot, though.

Neal clears his throat. He's pretty sure what he's about to say isn't what Marty meant, but it's about all Neal knows how to do now. He rolls onto his back so he doesn't have to watch understanding and rejection spread over Marty's face, if this goes wrong.

"So Marty," he says, his voice catching. "You're really amazing, and you're a pretty good-looking guy. And I like hanging out with you, and I think I might like doing more than that with you."

He waits, his breath sounding too loud in his ears. There's silence from the other side of the room, and Neal squeezes his eyes shut.

"You forgot the question," Marty finally says, and Neal's eyes spring open. He looks over, and Marty's grinning, his eyes dancing and his body practically vibrating under the blankets.

"Are you interested?" Neal manages to say, even though his heart is currently blocking the pathway between his lungs and throat.

"Oh, I'm interested," Marty says, still grinning.

Neal feels an answering smile on his own face, and he can't help the laughter that bursts from his throat when his heart finally goes back down to where it belongs, full and heavy with excitement and hope and happiness.

THE END


End file.
